Masumai: Origins
by Raine Lionheart
Summary: The story of Raine's sword and how it came to be with him. I wrote this for a Creative Writing 12 project. Original Characters and Storylines.


Masumai: Origins  
by Raine Lionheart

A/N: All of the characters in this story were created by me; however, Raine and his friends are a part of a series I'm writing dealing directly with Harry, and this story is a prequel to said series. Therefore, I'm categorizing this as a Harry Potter story.

* * *

Raine retired to his dorm, aching and sore from head to toe. He felt a flush of pride in this, owing to the fact that he had worked incredibly hard tonight, and it would show on Saturday. He was ready for the tournament, he could _feel_ it. Lataerez was ready for the tournament, Raine could feel _that_ as well.

Raine pushed the door open, dropped his duffel of Shi-Jinni gear on the armchair by the desk and quite literally fell face-first onto his bed. He landed with a thump and bounced for a moment.

"Erg…" he moaned from the exhaustion that was threatening to overcome him. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. A tap at the door made him start.

"Come in," he grunted.

He heard the door open, shut and footsteps began to move towards him. Emiko's face appeared in his view, a smile on her gorgeous face.

"Tired much?" she smirked. Raine frowned and reached up, feigning a veritable thrashing on the girl.

"I shall not be fallen by the likes of you…" he uttered tiredly.

Emiko smiled warmly and said, "I brought you tea. Thought that it may help."

Raine forced himself up as Emiko poured two goblets of green tea and handed one to her boyfriend. He sipped and grinned. "Mmmm… everything from Japan tastes good." He eyed Emiko, leering slightly. She giggled.

They drank mostly in silence (Raine made the occasional groan or snide comment), and when they had finished, Emiko offered him a massage. Lord knows he needed it, what after beating Tae in four out of five practice battles. His hands were blistered from grasping _Masumai_ for so long, and his wand arm was sore from throwing the occasional curse or hex. His right quadriceps muscle was tired as well. Unfortunately for Raine, Tae could take an arsenal of kicks easily.

Emiko began to knead his muscles, sending the random spur of pain through his slight frame.

"Professor Greymalkin said that your sword-use was improving," she told him as she began to work on his back.

"Might be. I wouldn't know."

Silence, then, "Raine… do you ever wonder where your sword came from?"

Raine shrugged. It was an innocent enough question, one that he'd like to know as well. All he knew was that Master Asai had given it to him as a gift before leaving France last summer. Since then, Raine had grown accustomed to using the katana in his Shi-Jin practices.

"I mean," she continued, "for all we know, it could be… I don't know, an ancient, cursed samurai sword, or the sword of Emperor Nakamura, or--"

"Or just my luck for finding it," he smirked.

"Seriously Raine. You never know if you've come across a cursed item."

He snorted. "You sound just like Professor Greymalkin. He's always going on about cursed items, like the "Tailsman of Gurthar", or weird crap like that."

"He's our Charms and Magical Items Prof. for a reason."

"Yeah, I suppose."

They didn't speak for a few minutes. Raine took this time to wonder what had spawned his relic sword.

****

105 BC

Britain

Forges were dangerous things. Unless you knew how they worked. A blacksmith only knew that the fire was important for the making of horseshoes, armor and daggers. Others might be stupid enough to look into a forge and be blinded by the intense heat that traveled up from the core of the fires.

Others, like Anyar, knew what forges were capable of, and what they should be used for.

Today was a very good day. A day that would call for many a pint in the Leaky Cauldron. Yes, today was important enough for him.

He'd be finishing the samurai sword today.

Unlike most crafters, Anyar preferred to take his time in the making of a sword. Instead of a week, or in some cases, a day, Anyar would craft a handle itself in a month and the blade in another two. Like his last two swords, _Luciendar _and _Morthoseth_, which he had spent a year on in total. _Masumai_ would be the third of the six he needed for his collection.

Anyar entered his shop and took to the blade immediately. He had been waiting for this day for a long time now: the wrapping of the handle. He began to cut the leather into strips using a small dagger (crafted by him, of course).

Again, unlike other wizard crafters, Anyar preferred the Muggle way of doing things. Instead of using a Bonding Charm for this project, he liked to tightly wrap the leather around the handle, which gave it more of an authentic look and feel. Magic was used by fakes or lazy crafters.

Once the cutting was done, Anyar wrapped the leather around the handle, slowly and methodically. He made sure that it was tight enough to grasp the handle without the leather sliding off, then got to work on the tantos.

The tiny throwing knives had been polished the night before, and only needed his emblem imprinted on the blades. That would take three hours, no doubt. He continued to work.

By night time, he had not only finished _Masumai_, but he had polished it once more, taking caution with the ebony sheath, and had even started his layout of his next creation, _Anathros_.

By dusk, Anyar could be found in the Leaky Cauldron. The bartender, an old fellow with shaggy brown hair named Mauri, was wiping his glasses clean with a bar towel as Anyar drank a Jearand Ale, a sort of celebratory drink, compensating for his usual Silver Stout. Mauri wore the usual toothless grin when Anyar asked for another pint and poured him two more.

"Still working on that weird Asi-ee-yun sword there?" the bartender asked.

"Just finished today," came the slurred reply. "Working on my Earth sword now. Gonna be a beaut."

Mauri laughed a deep, rumbling laugh and replied, "You say that about all of your wares, Anyar. And they're never as good as the first one was."

"_Luciendar_… that was an adequete work. Now this… this here's a work of art, Mauri, a really masterpeice. I couldn't--" he belched loudly, upsetting a hag in the corner, "-- do better than that…"

"Of course not," Mauri amended. "You'd do your nut if someone touched that thing."

Anyar nodded drunkenly, then paid for his pints (leaving the fifth half-drunk) and stumbled out of the tavern.

Two years later, Anyar had finished the other three swords of his series: _Anathros_, _Fræzen _and_ Valdermos_. Seven days later, he had died, without a will. His friend, the barkeep Mauri, took it upon himself to make sure that his swords got good homes, not realizing that they had been crafted for a purpose. He had only found five of them when he went to Anyar's shop and sold them for good prices. He later sold his bar and bought a piece of land in the Muggle world, where he died seven years later, most of the time wondering what had happened to the Asian sword Anyar had ranted about so very often.

****

57 BC

Britain

Raids in the European continent had ended swiftly, leaving Nawari Zukiro time to explore the ruins of the tiny town he was based in. Zukiro entered each building, hoping for missed loot. However, as he grew closer to the end of the street, his expectations were growing lower and lower. Each building had nothing more than crumbly, burnt walls and dirt-ridden floors.

The third to last building, however, held something that came to be a shock to Zukiro. He entered to find a forge, very old and very dusty, and many old and useless tools, for crafting weapons, he decided.

Zukiro looked through the shelves of the workshop and stepped onto what must've been a trapdoor, for he heard a hollow tap. He leaned down on his haunches and knocked on the wood, hearing a hollow noise again. He ran his hands against the wood and found a handle. Lifting it up carefully, Zukiro peered into the hole.

There was a solitary item down there. A sword.

Oddly enough, a samurai sword.

Zukiro reached into the hole and pulled out the sword. He examined it in the light. Black ebony had been carved into a sheath, while the handle of the sword was leather-bound and most likely made of steel.

Zukiro could not resist. He attached the sword to his belt and left the workshop.

That night, his companions commented on his find, asking where he had found it. But he told them that he would not tell them. They would have to find themselves their own.

"He stole it!" a hard-headed warrior named Yazuka accused. "He took it from someone!"

"I most certainly did not," Zukiro spat in contempt.

"Liar!" Yazuka cried. "You stole that magnificent blade! You are a thief."

Yazuka knew not what he was about to get into. He was insulting his leader, being insubordinate. And insubordination was one crime that many regretted, if they lived.

"How dare you call me a thief?" Zukiro roared, brandishing the sword once more. "I found this in one of the warlocks' houses!"

But Yazuka would have none of that. He told him to prove it.

Feeling his rage bubble, Zukiro unsheathed the sword and with a quick, decisive swip, tore a hole in the other man's stomach. Yazuka screamed in agony as he bled, his blood and insides spilling forth like a broken dam. He soon fell unconscious from the pain.

The other warriors were too taken aback by their leader's actions that they said nothing. Two dragged Yazuka's unconscious and dying body off to the stile at the other end of the street.

"Now," Zukiro was saying, "if anyone wishes to question me again, you will know what to expect."

The warriors nodded, still wide-eyed and speechless.

"We must head back to the homeland. We have found evidence of demons here, who posesses magic. The emperor must hear of it…"

****

22 BC

Japan

A fierce battle raged. Pirates had ambushed a warrior ship on its way back from the Southern Islands, and the warriors had not taken the invasion well. Swords clashed together, sending great sparks into the frigid air. Men groaned as they were sliced across the chest, others as they were punched unconscious from the ninjas who had invaded the ship.

Zukiro, captain of the warrior ship, was prepared at the first sign of trouble. He was out of his cabin, sword in hand, when the first screams were heard from the deck. He had the sword out and poised, ready for the inevitable attack. He kicked his door open and let out a war-cry, causing a number of ninjas to freeze in their places as they charged him. He slashed his katana through them with ease, causing four heads to roll across the wooden deck, leaving streaks of red.

Zukiro took a run at the overhang and jumped, flipping in the air and landing on his feet, swinging at another ninja's knees. The other man jumped and flipped backwards as Zukiro positioned himself for his next attack. The ninja pounced, his sai spinning in his hands. Zukiro swung again, but his attempt was blocked by the steel of the ninja's weapons. The man swung Zukiro around and kicked him in the back. Zukiro recovered in time to side-step the man and trip him.

The ninja on the ground rolled onto his back and kicked into the air, catching Zukiro in the hand. The force of the ninja's kick knocked Zukiro's sword away. It flew in the air, spinning and cutting through anything that it came in contact with.

By the time _Masumai_ hit the deck, Zukiro was dead.

****

1358 AD

Egypt

Abdul and Saheed had planned on fishing that day, to help their mother and father for their evening meal. Their home was mere feet away from the Nile (not a very strategic place when you thought about it), so fishing was common for the two boys.

Abdul was the taller of the two; Saheed was the stronger. Abdul would watch to water for any fish that would come their way, Saheed would spear it and drag it home. That's the way they always did it and that's how it would probably be always.

Abdul stood on the bank of the river, his brandy eyes flickering across the azure of the water. Saheed was poised, ready to strike at his brother's word.

For ten minutes they stood, waiting for the catch. They had long ago learned patience, learning that it was a virtue, and that it was a necessity for survival.

Abdul waited and waited… and something caught his eye.

"Saheed, look." He pointed to the long stick which was lodged into the dirt under the water. Saheed approached the stick, prodding it with his spear. When it didn't react, he reached his small hand in and tugged it out. The stick came free of the water, spreading a cloud of dirt. Saheed pulled it up to examine it.

It was long and curved, and thick. Not even a stick really. He ran his fingers over smooth wood and the leather, wondering what it was.

"What is it?" Abdul asked.

But Saheed was at a loss for words.

The local market was a riot when the boys and their parents brought the object to be inspected. As far as they knew, it could be a wizard's staff, or a cursed weapon of some sort. The others in the market were all curious as to what the boys had found.

The prophet had a guess, however.

"Ah… you've found a weapon?" he asked.

Saheed nodded and his father handed the prophet the stick, who gazed at it, mesmerized by its smooth black wood. He hissed in anticipation as he wrapped his spindly fingers around the leather-bound section and tugged it. Out of the black wood slid a long shaft of steel. It was a sight to behold. The sun sparkled off of the curved steel blade.

The crowd around the prophet's tent gasped.

"It is a sword," he told Saheed and Abdul. "Used by men not from here."

"From across the sea?" their father asked.

The prophet flashed a mysterious smile. "No. Farther than them."

Saheed stared in wonder at the "sword", wondering who had left it in the river for them to discover.

The prophet told the boys to go to the trinket man and sell it. They did so and got enough money to feed their family for an entire year.

****

1709 AD

Italy

Giovanni Rekert was no fool when it came to buying. He was a wealthy man and took no chances when he bargained for merchandise. When the trinket dealer had shown him the Asian sword, he had claimed that two boys had found it in the Nile almost two hundred years ago. Nobody had bought it in fear of a curse, considering the quality of the blade after being in the river for such a long time. Needless to say, Rekert was very impressed by this and spent a good sum on the blade. He didn't know, at the time, whether it was worth it or not. It was far too late now, but in any case, he'd find out.

Rekert was sailing back to native Vienna, and had the sword clipped to his belt. He wanted the sword close at all times, so he could make sure that nobody tried to pull a fast one on him. His yacht sped across the Mediterranean at full speed, hoping to make it home by nightfall.

Rekert had the sword appraised when the next morning. He was surprised when the appraiser quoted the price, which was very high, almost in the multi-millions.

Rekert knew immediately that he needed to keep the sword safe. All he could do to protect it was keep it under his floorboards and tell nobody about it. He did this only an hour after the appraiser named his price, leaving the bank with the sinking feeling in his stomach fading.

He decided to celebrate his find with a casual drink.

The tavern wasn't open, however. They weren't on Sunday mornings, so Rekert settled for heading home to have a drink. Of course, one did not drink alone unless they were poor, sad or very happy.

That's what Rekert's father had told him, so it had to be true. And he was very happy, so why not indulge?

Two days, Rekert had found a buyer: a portly Asian man who was searching for the perfect weapon. He was wealthy himself, and when he heard news of Rekert's prize, he immediately headed in that direction.

"Of course," Rekert said, as they haggled, "my appraiser mentioned that it was a prize worth… let's just say, multi-millions." He wore a superior smirk when he said this.

"Of course," the Asian said. "I have much money, enough to buy your weapon."

"Do you now?" Rekert was taken aback. An Asian man with enough money to buy his precious sword?

"I have made much money in my world."

Rekert laughed haughtily. "Of course." Perhaps he did. Asia _was_ a large… er… "world".

While Rekert thought this, Toshio Kanasawi was wondering how he'd be able to get the sword without using his wand.

****

1998

France

"One more time!"

Raine grunted and froze in his place. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and with a Karate shriek, he unsheathed his sword and sliced through the wooden statue. The top half slid off with a thud as it hit the ground.

"Most excellent!" Master Asai roared. "Very well done Raine."

The twelve year old grinned and bowed to his Shi-Jin master, then called his water-bottle over with a Summoning Charm and sat down on the dojo floor. He drank deep, letting the cool liquid refresh him.

"How do you feel Raine?" Master Asai asked of the boy.

"Excellent."

"That is good," the master said. "You must feel good to be good."

Raine nodded, remembering yet another proverb of his master's.

"Will you be ready for your tournament on Monday?"

"Of course."

His master smiled. An odd look crossed his face, and for a moment, Raine was worried.

"Raine… I have something for you."

Raine looked up in interest. Master Asai Summoned his personal sword from the display and walked across the dojo floor to Raine. Raine stood in a sign of respect.

"I received this from my master, Master Kanasawi, when I was your age. He used it himself when he was young."

He looked into Raine's astonished look with a smile.

"I want you to have _Masumai_."

****

1999

Canada

Raine turned over in his bed and lay with Emiko straddled in his lap. She bent down and kissed him, which he returned. She then said, "I can't wait until Saturday. You and Tae are going to do great."

"But of course…" Raine replied in a mock-humble voice.

"Modest much?" Emiko teased with a raised eyebrow. Raine laughed at this.

"Is Chloe going to come?" she asked.

"Of course! She and Tae are practically engaged! She'll probably root for him before me! And I'm her closest friend in the world!"

Emiko giggled and stroked Raine's cheek.

"You'll do well. You have _Masumai_. It's always been useful, and you know how to use it."

Raine smiled again, pulled himself up and kissed Emiko again, more passionately. She broke the kiss and said, "You should sleep, big guy. We have Potions and Draughts first thing."

Raine fell back and groaned. "Why?"

"Because we do," Emiko said as she stood. "And because Professor Arwek is cool." She kissed Raine atop the head before saying goodnight and leaving the dorm.

Raine lay in his bed, trying to wait for Tae, Breynar and Malaky to return from their conference with Greymalkin. However, he fell asleep, not noticing that his sword was now resting on the desk.

Not knowing what it really was.


End file.
